


When The Lights Go Out

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-29
Updated: 2000-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 06:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser's busy at the Consulate, so Ray has to solve this one by himself....





	When The Lights Go Out

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

When The Lights Go Out

## When The Lights Go Out

by Alison

Author's notes: A veritable plethora of people tried their best to help me with this one. I did my best, so thank you to Sarah, Circe and Erica in particular. Otters are mine.

* * *

**WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT**

I hate the dark; I always have. My idiot brother used to say that it wasn't the dark I should be scared of; it was what the darkness could hide. He was right. It's not the dark that's evil. 

Another one killed tonight that makes five of them. They're all kids the oldest victim so far had only just had her 19th birthday. They're all homeless, all forgotten. They're dragged off the street and never seen again, or at least not until they're exposed like this; naked, beaten bodies trapped in the glare of the halogen bulbs, people scurrying around and over them, not showing any respect. Why should they? Nobody respected them in life; so they're not gonna start now. 

I just want to get home; wash the streets off me; climb into bed and sleep under my own blankets, warm and safe with Fraser, but I can't, or at least not yet. Even if nothing else happens I still have to file my report. 

Lieutenant Welsh appears in front of me; he looks tired and a bit ragged. This case is really getting to all of us. 

"Detective, any information on this one?" he says. 

"Nobody even knows her name sir," I say, letting a bit of my frustration show. "She was beaten and raped, same as the others, then her throat was cut and she was dumped here. We're trying for ID but it's not likely anytime soon." 

Welsh runs his hand through his hair and glares at the murder scene. 

"We gotta find this perp, Vecchio," he says. "This isn't good, not good at all." 

"No sir," I reply. Not much else I can say. 

"Look, find Huey, get back and file your report," he says, "then go home. We'll pick this up tomorrow." 

"Yes sir," No stopping me in the conversational stakes. 

Looking around I see Huey talking to one of the guys in white suits. Huey's okay; while we've been working on this case together I've got to know him pretty well. He ain't Fraser but then I ain't Dewey. Feels weird to be working with someone I don't go home with. 

"Huey," He looks up as I approach. "C'mon. Lieu told us to get back and file the report and pick it all up again tomorrow." 

"Okay," Huey says his goodbyes and we start to walk towards the car. "I've got to go and see Tom anyway. I've never seen anyone with a worse sense of balance." 

"Well, that's probably why he broke his leg," I answer. "Never put a man with lousy balance on ice skates. It's just looking for trouble." I suppose I should be at least polite, so I ask, "How's his leg?" 

"It's broken Vecchio," Huey says with that patient look on his face. "It's no less broken than it was yesterday." 

"Well since you're so concerned about him, I'll drop you off at his place," I say. "Just give me your notes and I'll put them on the desk, okay? We can start the report tomorrow." 

"Oh, okay," he says. He looks surprised. People are always surprised when I do nice. 

* * *

So I go back to the station and throw both sets of notes on the desk. Sick as I am about this whole thing, me starting the report now or both of us starting it tomorrow isn't going to make a lot of difference. So I go home. 

Fraser's still up when I get there, even though it's late. He's in the kitchen fixing a drink when I walk in and he looks up and smiles. I go straight over to him and lean against that broad back, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing. 

"Another one?" he says sympathetically. 

I nod. "Jesus Frase, this guy is driving me nuts! He's picked his targets so well nobody cares about these kids so nobody notices when they disappear. He could keep them holed up somewhere for days at a time and it wouldn't matter because nobody's interested." 

I pull away and sit on the kitchen counter, watching him as he moves round the kitchen. Like to watch him. 

"How's it going at the Consulate?" I ask, and he shakes his head at me. 

"Not too badly," he says, "although it would undoubtedly be better if Turnbull remembered his alphabet from time to time. The main audit should be over in another three or four days; then we have to start tidying up after them." 

I smirk at him. "I bet it's killin' you, the Consulate being overrun by messy people," I say. 

"They're not messy, Ray," he says, handing me a coffee. "They're auditors, so by the very nature of their business they have to have a lot of ... clutter around them." 

"Clutter. Right." I take a mouthful of the coffee and let it slide down my throat. I put the mug down on the counter next to me and just look at him. He smiles very slightly and comes over to me, giving me a hug. Feels nice to have him there with me, solid and safe. 

I let him go and slide off the counter, picking my mug up and heading for the bathroom. "I gotta take a shower. Coming?" 

He doesn't speak, but he follows me. 

* * *

Sometimes it's easy to forget how big Fraser is. I mean he's not a lot taller than me, but he's solid there's a lot of muscle there. I like it; I like to feel his big body against mine. He's got me up against the shower wall and his tongue's so far down my throat that he can probably tell what I had for lunch feels fucking great, just what I need after a night like this. I've got both arms around his shoulders, my hands cradling his head. So perfect. 

He has his hand around my dick and is stroking it slowly, building up the tension between us. I have to break the kiss before I suffocate but I rest my head against the wall and he licks his way down my throat and shoulders, stopping at my chest. 

We've hardly said a word; after all this time we don't have to. We both know what we like and tonight I need his mouth on me. He gets the message as I push on his head, urging him lower. He drops to his knees and takes me into that gorgeous mouth, holding my hips still. I brace myself against the wall, hands and head, and let him set the pace it's not like he doesn't know what I want. 

Christ but he's clever! It's like he's trying to suck out my blood or something, so perfect it's almost pain, and I can hear the noises I'm making really shameless, needy sounds. 

I feel my back begin to arch and my toes start to curl. I move my hands and tangle them in his hair, trying to find something to ground myself. 

"Oh Christ, Oh Christ, Fraser... Jesus...Fuck!" I can't hold it in any longer and come into his mouth in long, shuddering bursts. 

He lets go of my hips and I slide down the wall so that we're sitting on the floor of the shower stall in a tangle of arms and legs. I kiss him and I feel him smile against my lips. 

"So good to me, Frase," I whisper. "So fucking good..." 

"My pleasure, Ray," he murmurs. 

I could go to sleep right there under the running water, wrapped in the Mountie's arms, but something's nagging at me and it's not until he shifts his hips against me that I realise what it is. 

"Oops," I lift my head from his shoulder and smile at him. He smiles back. I put my hand down and stroke his cock which jumps in my hand. This won't take long. I begin to jerk him and he pushes into my hand. He likes my hands, my fingers; he thinks that they're 'elegant'. I've seen him when we're talking, just watching my hands as I wave them around. I've always used them to 'talk'; I just never realised what effect they were having. 

He stretches his legs out as much as he can in the stall and I kind of straddle his lap. Not the most comfortable position I've ever been in, but it means I can still reach him and he can get that tongue working on my neck and throat. It only takes a couple of minutes before he's coming, trembling and leaning his head back against the wall, gasping out my name. My name. My Mountie. 

* * *

I have a really bad dream that night. There are all these kids, all unloved, all gathered around a corpse lying on the floor, a corpse battered and bruised, with its throat cut. As I approach them to find out what's happened the first of them turns around to stare at me and I see that this kid has had his throat cut too, then they all turn around one by one and they're all the same; they have all had their throats cut, and they're all looking at me out of accusing eyes. 

The first one, the one who turned around, starts to walk towards me and I know, I just know the way that you do know things in dreams, that if this kid touches me I'll die, so I begin to walk backwards, not wanting to turn my back on these lost souls. But there's a wall behind me and I don't have anywhere to go, and they're getting closer and closer, so that I can smell them, smell the death on them, and the kid's going to touch me and I'll be dead. 

"Ray!" I open my eyes and it's so dark. I can hear Fraser but I can't see him. I can still see the kids coming towards me. 

"Ray!" I open my eyes again and this time I'm in the apartment, and the light's on and I can see him. And the kids have gone. 

He doesn't ask me what's wrong; he knows not to do that. If I want to tell him things I'll tell him, but I don't like being pushed. Instead he pulls me into those strong arms and holds me so tight that I can hardly breathe. It feels good. Makes me feel alive. Makes me feel wanted. At least I'm wanted. He puts his hand down and pulls me close so that we meet all the way down our bodies chest, hips, legs. I put a hand up and stroke his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble there, and then I rest my head against his shoulder and wait for sleep. 

"I wish I could be working with you on this," he says softly, his hand resting in my hair. 

"It's just bad timing Frase," I reply. "You've got to be there while they audit the place, especially since the Ice Queen has gone on that retreat thingy. Perfect timing, by the way." I reach up and kiss his neck. His hand tightens a little bit in my hair, just letting me know he's there. 

I can't believe that you guys have to be audited; you're Canadian for fuck's sake, the most honest people in the world. Anyway, I don't mind working with Huey, he's a good enough guy." 

"But he's not me," says Fraser and I push myself up so that I can see his face. He's looking at me real instense, almost scared. 

"No he isn't," I say. "But he's a good guy; we watch each others' backs. It'll all be okay Frase, you know that. The Ice Queen'll be back soon, relaxed and no doubt a completely different person .." He snorts at me in a way that makes me think we spend way too much time together, and I laugh, settling my head back down on his shoulder. 

"...And you'll come back to the Precinct and then you'll watch my back again, yeah?" 

"Yes," he says. "Soon." 

"Yeah," I yawn and wriggle a bit closer. "Soon." I can feel my eyes begin to close but he'll stay awake until I'm sleeping because he can't help it. Protective guy, my Mountie. 

* * *

I actually get to work early the next day so that I can start working on the report of the latest victim of this weirdo. The ME's report confirms that it's the same MO as all the other deaths; dental records turn up no ID on our victim, and her fingerprints aren't on file. She'll be buried alone and nobody will ever know or care that she died. I fucking hate this. I have to spend the whole morning processing this poor kid's details. Mort will keep her in one of those little slidy drawer things and then she'll be put into some unmarked grave with just the date of her death on it. It's not right. 

I have to at least try and find something back in that pit where she died. Perhaps now that it's light I'll be able to turn up something that was missed last night. I'm on my way out of the precinct when Welsh calls me back to talk about a couple of other cases I'm working on, so by the time I get away it's late afternoon and my precious light is fading. It's nearly Christmas, and as I drive back to the crime scene I can't help but think about those poor kids who will never see Christmas again. It was probably just another day to them, maybe a bit quieter than most, but who knows? Perhaps they felt there was a little bit of hope. 

I stop at the first of a long list of homeless shelters and pick my way up the steps to the front door. The steps are covered in rubbish and I can see the glint of needles among all the other stuff. Great. 

As I walk in a young woman comes towards me long legs and bouncy hair. There is no way on this earth that she's a resident. 

"Can I help you?" she says brightly, her smile only dimming slightly when I flash my badge. 

"I hope so ma'am," I answer. "I'm investigating the deaths of several homeless people and I was hoping -," 

"I don't know anything about it," she says, smile turning to a glare. "I don't know why you're here when it's so obvious that you don't care about these people." 

"Now that's not fair -," I start to say, but she stops me with an upraised hand. 

"No I think it is fair," she said. "How many of them have to die before you actually find this maniac?" 

"Well we're trying to ...," She interrupts again. This is like having a conversation with Fraser. 

"Well you're not trying hard enough!" 

I take a deep breath and try a smile. 

"Look ma'am, I don't think we've started this too well have we? Do you think we could try again?" 

She seems to calm down a bit at that and looks kinda sheepish. 

"I'm sorry Detective," she says. "It's just that everybody is so angry about these killings that it's difficult to keep the whole thing in perspective." 

"I'm truly sorry about these deaths," I say, "and I really hope that with your help, and the help of some of the people who stay here, we can do something about it." 

After that things seem to get back on the level and I'm allowed the run of the place to talk to anybody who may be able to help. 

Jesus, what a place! These people are kids, just kids, and yet when I look in their faces I see nothing but despair. They look back at me out of eyes that have seen far too much pain far too young, and it makes me angry that even their last right their right to live is being taken away from them. 

But me being angry doesn't bring results. Nobody has seen anything, or at least that's what they say, but they're real hostile towards the police so perhaps they just don't want to say anything to me. 

It's the same with the next couple of hostels, and by then it's getting kinda late. It's way too dark to go and check out the crime scene, so I decide just to head home. My shift was over an hour ago. 

All these dark alleys look the same and I'm really not sure that I'm going in the right direction. I'm just squinting at a street sign when I hear a woman scream. I spin around and see a figure on the ground about a hundred yards from me, and when I get there I see that it's just a kid. She's not dressed real well and she's scared, so I can't help but wonder if she's a target for our bad guy. 

I put out my hands as I approach her, so that she can see I'm not going to hurt her. 

"It's okay," I say quietly. "You're safe. My name's Ray, Detective Ray Vecchio, I'm with the Chicago Police Department. I'll take care of you." 

She's sitting on the pavement now with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking herself backwards and forwards trying to comfort herself. I kneel down by her and put one hand on her shoulder. She kind of rockets into my arms, crying and clutching at me, so I just hold her close and mutter nonsense into her ear, waiting for her to calm down. 

After about a day and a half she seems to calm down so I stand up, pulling her with me. She doesn't seem to be planning to let go of me anytime soon. 

"You'll be fine," I say. "Can you tell me what happened?" 

"I was just walking up the street," she says real quiet. I have to bend my head to hear her. "And I was grabbed from behind..." She trails off. 

"Did you get a look at the person who grabbed you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. 

She shakes her head. "No. It all happened so fast... He let me go when I screamed and ran off. I'm sorry." 

"It's okay," I say. "Look, just let me call my precinct and we'll get an officer down here to take your statement. You just try and remember everything that happened." 

She nods. 

"Detective?" I turn around and there's a stocky middle aged guy looking at me. "Detective, I think I see something moving in the alley down there." He points, and he's obviously shit scared, so I do my tough cop swagger as I go over to him and peer in the direction he's pointing. Can't see a thing. No glasses and it's dark. Still he doesn't need to know that does he? Don't want him thinking that his fair city is being looked after by short sighted nyctophobes. Oh man, been hanging with Fraser way too long. 

"It's okay, I'll go and check it out," I say. I look behind me to see how the girl's doing. She seems to be hanging in there; she's kinda hugging herself, but she don't look like she's going to collapse or anything. I smile at her, but she doesn't see me. 

I start to make my way down the alley, gun in hand. A sudden movement behind me makes me spin around, banging one shoulder hard up against the wall for security. There's nothing there, so I guess it must have been a cat or something. Don't like cats; they're so easy to fall over. 

"Detective?" It's the middle aged guy. He's walking towards me down the alley, so I raise my hand to wave him away. Stupid fuck shouldn't be following me down here I get paid for this. I don't look to make sure he's gone, I just turn around and carry on staring aimlessly into the dark. 

So it's a bit of a surprise when I suddenly get belted from behind with what feels like a piece of wood. It doesn't do any real harm; just knocks me to the ground, but it does make me lose my gun which goes sliding off into the dark. 

I'm reaching for my ankle holster and turning round to try and see who and what is behind me, when I get picked up and slammed against the wall by oh, for fuck's sake the middle aged guy. He's still just a stocky, middle aged guy; but now he's got a light in his eyes that I've seen before on other people, and it's never meant anything good. 

"Back off now!" I say in my best Chicago growl. Doesn't work. This guy has a weight advantage on me and he's really using it, pressing his whole body up against me, holding me there. He's kind of got his hip against my crotch and one hand in my hair, pulling it so hard that my eyes are watering. 

"No, I don't think I will," he says. "I've been waiting to see you. You've been coming down here, trying to spoil my fun and that's not right. I'm doing the city a service, ridding the streets of this scum, and you come down here with your so cool attitude and your so cool car and think that you can just take all this away from me? I don't think so." He leans against me even harder, smacking my head against the wall. This guy is angry, I can see it in his eyes and smell it on him. He bangs my head against the wall again, using it for emphasis as he carries on talking. 

"You see, Detective Vecchio, I know you. You don't play it safe, do you? You live on the edge, you like to think you're invulnerable, immortal. Well, nobody's immortal, Detective Vecchio, and I think you need to learn that lesson right now." 

He's got me flat against the wall so that I can't move, then he puts one arm across my throat, making it so damn hard to breathe that I can't even think straight. He's too close for me to get my leg up and catch him in the balls, and that damn jacket he's wearing is featureless; I can't get a grip on it I'm fucked, pure and simple. Pretty lights are starting to explode in my head and I realise one thing; I'm dying. I'm being choked to death in a filthy alley that stinks of piss, by someone I don't even know. It's shabby. It's a shabby way to die, and I don't want people to remember me like that. I don't want people to think that I fell for this stupid trick. 

I bring my hands from around his back and put them underneath his forearm, which is still across my throat. I get what leverage I can then very suddenly I just relax every muscle in my body and slide to the ground. I'm still holding his forearm, and the suddenness of the move gives me a couple of seconds' grace before he's on me again. This time I'm on my knees and so I fight back in the true Chicago way a head butt to the bridge of his nose makes me see stars, but it also makes him pull his hands away from me and clap them over his face. I know from experience that having that done hurts like a son of a bitch hell, * doing * it hurts like a son of a bitch. 

While he's distracted, I kick him in the balls for good measure and while he's trying to decide which bit to grab next, I fumble around on the ground until I find my phone. It's okay, since it landed in something soft that I don't want to think about. I dial the precinct and call for backup. 

I kneel on his back and put the cuffs on him and then we wait for the backup to arrive. I read him his rights, but I don't say anything else; he's bleeding like a stuck pig and what with that and the bruises that have to be developing somewhere else, I don't think he really want to speak to me. Just fine by me. 

"Hey!" The cry makes me jump about a foot in the air, and I look up to see the girl who was attacked coming towards me. 

"It's okay," I say. "The police are on their way. There's nothing to be frightened of." 

"Why should I be frightened?" she says. "You stupid fuck, let him go!" 

And with that she runs the last few steps and kicks me. 

And that is it. I have been humiliated, tricked and nearly choked; I have had to kneel in revolting substances on the ground, and now some girl - who I tried to help has decided to use my leg as target practice. No. Enough. 

I stand up and point to my prisoner. "You stay," I say. I take off after the girl who has only now decided it might be a good idea to run away. I catch her before she reaches the end of the alley and hold on tight as she tries to escape. She's real thin and small, but there's a lot of fear strength in her and she nearly gets away a couple of times before I finally get a good grip on her, one arm behind her back. 

"Now stop!" I say. "You got some explaining to do, lady. I want to know what's been going on down here and you're gonna tell me. Both of you." I look over my shoulder to make sure Prisoner Number One is still where I left him. Face down in the dirt. Good. I shift my grip slightly so that I can get my spare cuffs out, and she tries to wriggle away from me, but I really am pissed now, so I slam her against the wall none too gently and slap the cuffs on. She's so thin that they're almost too big for her. 

I can finally hear sirens in the distance; the calvary are coming. Good. 

* * *

When I get back to the station I just have time to put in a quick call to Fraser. I need to hear that voice, just to ground me before I go in and start grilling Prisoner Number One. 

"Hey," I say when he answers the phone. 

"Hey yourself," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "How are you, Ray?" 

"Tired," I answer. "Listen, I think we may have caught the perp, so I gotta stay here for a while longer yet and see if I can get a few answers. You in bed yet?" I pause. "That sounded like telephone sex didn't it?" 

"It was a promising start," he says solemnly. "No Ray, I'm not in bed. I'll wait until you come in." 

"Oh no, don't do that," I say quickly. "I know you got the early shift tomorrow, and you know that you like to go to bed early. I really don't have any idea when I'm gonna be home. I just ," I pause because this is going to sound so lame that I should be ashamed of myself. "I just wanted to hear your voice." 

He doesn't speak for a second and I'm just about to start squirming from sheer embarrassment when he suddenly says, deep and velvety, "That's good Ray. I like that." 

Oh, so do I. 

"I'll see you later," I say. "I gotta go." Then I put the phone down before the situation gets away from me. 

* * *

It's kinda obvious pretty quickly that this guy is our guy, so to speak. He doesn't even try and deny it. 

"I've been waiting for you to capture me, gentlemen," he says, sitting at the table so calm and collected, like we were discussing the weather. "It has been a fascinating struggle, no? Such a pity that five or is it six? people had to die before you actually did your job with anything approaching professionalism." 

I glance at Huey, who's leaning against the door of the interrogation room. He scowls, so I shrug. This guy is the worst kind of creep; he thinks that it's all just been some kind of game and that those kids were just pawns. He's the type who wants to get into prison, be the big man; then he can live out 10 years or so on death row writing his memoirs and having women fall in love with him. Man, I fucking hate people like him. There's no reason, however sick and twisted, for him to have done any of this. He's completely without a soul, and I would like to rip his heart out. 

It's frustrating, but there really is nowhere to go with him. He's had all the tests blood, sperm, saliva and they'll be checked against the dead kids; he doesn't want a lawyer, and we've got his statement. I can't rough him up even a little, so in the end all we can do is lock him in the holding cell for the night. 

Then I can go home. 

* * *

The apartment's never totally dark. Ever since I freaked out one night and admitted to Fraser that I really can't stand complete darkness, he's always been careful to leave just one light on somewhere. Usually it's the table lamp by the couch; that casts kind of a nice glow around the room, makes it look homely. But it's what * on * the couch that makes it home. 

He's fallen asleep it's late and he's been up for hours so I just close the door real quiet and stand looking at him for a while. I like looking at him when he's asleep, but I don't get the chance too often. 

He's on his stomach, one hand trailing on the floor, wearing nothing but boxers, which is a nice welcome. Zoned, completely. He looks like nothing would wake him short of the end of the world. The other hand is tucked under his face, and he looks like a kid; unguarded and defenceless. 

I go and kneel by his side and run a finger round the inside of his ear. He doesn't stir, so I do it again. This time he kind of mumbles and swats at my hand. I replace my finger with my tongue at the same time stroking my hand down those long muscles in his back. 

He comes awake real sudden and I pull back just in time to avoid getting smacked in the face by a flailing hand. He looks up and smiles, sudden and sweet, and I can't help but burrow down into that warmth and sweetness. That flailing hand comes around and rests on the back of my neck Nice. 

"I'm back now," I say, a bit obviously. 

"So I see," he says politely. He strokes, very gently. "How did it go?" 

I shrug and burrow a bit closer, shaking my head. 

"We got him, I think," I say. "No more." 

He knows what I mean and won't ask about it again. I'll tell him when I can. Just at the moment what I need is his closeness and his warmth. 

He lets go of me and sits up, looking rumpled and gorgeous. Pulling me into his arms he holds me tight then pushes me away. He keeps one hand on my shoulder and guides me into the bedroom without another word. 

I gotta have a shower first get the stink of that alley off me but I don't waste time wallowing. I don't want him asleep when I get into the bedroom. 

I slide into bed with him and make the discovery that his boxers have vanished. Oh good. He's just lying there not quite smiling at me, but his eyes are real soft. 

I don't feel like wasting any time so I just kind of pull myself on top of him and kiss him as hard as I can. He opens right up and I lose myself in his taste and smell. I pull away and slide my tongue down his chin and across his jawline then up into his ear. He flinches away, then pulls me closer stroking my back, saying sorry; he's got really sensitive ears even though he doesn't like to admit it and if I hit the spot right I have to peel him off the ceiling. That doesn't quite happen tonight, so I trail my tongue down to his neck and bite him just above his collarbone, not hard, but hard enough for him to understand what I need. 

His hands are still resting on my back and now they slide a little lower, cupping around my ass. He pulls me tight against him, at the same time wrapping his legs around my thighs so that my just- waking-up dick is tucked against his already-awake-and-happy one. 

Me and him, sometimes we make love, all soft and slow and lovely, and sometimes we fuck; tonight I really want to fuck, so I start to move against him getting a good rhythm going. All the time I'm biting at his neck and shoulders, then licking over the marks I make. He keeps his hands on my ass, one finger occasionally sliding between to tease me. 

He's getting harder by the second, beginning to sweat now and when I reach up to kiss him he's looking at me wide eyed and pleading. I move a little faster against him and he catches his breath in a not quite sob, legs holding me tighter and closer, hands squeezing me against him. 

"What do you want, Fraser?" I say against his lips. "What do you want me to do?" He rubs himself against me, not speaking, but I want him to say it to me. I want to hear the words tonight, so I stop moving and we just lie there, breathing each other's air. His eyes are black now; he wants me so badly that he's shaking, but he's got to say it first. 

"Please Ray," he gasps, putting a hand in my hair, the other hand still on my ass, pulling me against him, trying to get that friction back. "Please don't stop." 

"What do you want?" I say again. "Come on, tell me." 

I love that I can make him so needy, so desperate. It turns my crank to think that nobody else sees him like this. Just me. It's only for me. 

He suddenly pulls my head down and bites my throat hard, hard enough to mark, then with his mouth against the bruise, he whispers, "I want you to fuck me." I flinch back at the feeling of that hot breath against my throat, but he holds me there with his hand still in my hair. 

"I want you to fuck me," he says again. "Fuck me so hard that I can't even remember my name." 

Ohboyohboy. I am so the man for that. 

I slip a hand between us where it's already kinda wet, what with sweat and stuff, so I gather up as much of that moisture as I can, then gently slide a finger inside him. He's close because that causes his hips to buck against me. I stay still until he's calmed down a little bit, then I slip another finger inside him. 

He lifts his head and looks at me, and even all wild eyed and sweaty, horny and desperate like he is, from somewhere deep down he finds another of those sweet smiles of his for me, and I can't help but smile back. We may be in the most ridiculous and intimate position, just about to fuck like rabbits, but he still manages to look innocent. 

He starts to move against me so I put my hand on his stomach to hold him still. Oh no, I'm not letting him use my fingers to bring himself off; not when I have so much more to offer. Not wanting to wait any longer I slide my fingers out and grab my dick with one hand. I groan out loud as I push into him; I will never get tired of doing this; watching his face as I push into that small tight opening may just be one of the greatest pleasures on earth. 

I start to move inside him and he moans, low and sweet. He puts one hand on my chest and the other on my hip, pushing me away and pulling me close, and looking at me all the time he loves to look at me, he says. To begin with I found it kinda freaky, but now to be honest I like it; I like to watch him watching me. 

His whole body jerks as I hit the sweet spot, then he tightens his legs around me even further, trying to control what I'm doing. Usually that's fine, but tonight I want to be the one in charge and so I stop moving again until he gets the message and loosens up a little. 

I lean down to kiss him. "Good," I say quietly. "Let me do it all Fraser. I'll take care of you." 

He's not going to last long , and neither am I, so I speed up, hammering into him. I'm having to hold onto the bedframe so that I can really give it to him and now his hands have moved again; this time one's back on my ass and the other is pressed against my mouth. I open up and suck on his fingers, loving the way his eyes widen even further. At the same time he reaches down and puts one of his fingers deep inside me. Christ, what a feeling ... it's like being fucked three ways at once. I come so hard that I can hardly breathe and I'm only just aware of him shaking underneath me, calling out my name. Sweetest sound I ever heard. 

I roll off him and we lie side by side, both breathing real hard. He recovers first and he leans over me kissing me. "Okay?" he says. 

I stroke his face. "That wasn't letting me do everything Fraser," I say, scowling at him. "But Jesus yes, am I okay!" 

He laughs and stays where he is, lying half on me. He tucks one leg between my thighs and we lie still for a couple of minutes. He puts a hand up and rests it on my throat. I know he wants to ask about the bruises, about what happened. I cover that hand with mine and we just lie there, still and silent. I just want him here, silent. Lying together like this. 

* * *

When the alarm goes off I'm already half awake. Fraser's gone to work so getting out of bed isn't such a challenge. I feel really stiff and that makes me smile, but when I look in the bathroom mirror it's not so funny. My throat is black with bruises where the perp had me against the wall, and my back is covered in scratches and and bruises from the same wall. Still, I suppose that nobody will notice Fraser's mark amongst all the others. Every cloud... A good hot shower and a cup of coffee just about wakes me up and by the time I get to the 2-7 I'm ready for Prisoner Number One, and the girl who tried to make me let him go. 

Huey calls me over to his desk as I walk in. 

"Okay, we've identified our perp," he says handing me a file. "His name's Craig Donnelly and all the samples he gave match what was taken off the victims. He's our guy, simple as that. He's not denying it and he goes in front of the judge this morning at 10. You wanna be there?" 

I nod, feeling a bit let down. Although it's great when we catch the bad guys, it's also a bit of a let down when it comes together so quickly at the end. 

"What about the girl?" I ask. 

"She's his daughter," Huey pulls a real sick face. "Can you imagine that? She's been helping him get the kids. She talks to them, befriends them, and then when their guard is down she takes them for a coffee and that's it, her father snatches them." 

"Oh man!" I don't know what to say. I've been a cop a long time, but sometimes the sick fucks in this world really turn my stomach. 

"She's also a juvie," Huey says, "so she's going to be seen by the authorities and the psychiatrist and they'll decide what to do with her." 

"I know what they should do with her," I say, handing back the file. 

"Right with you there," answers Huey. "So we're going to have to write it up later if you're okay for that?" He takes a good look at me. "Man, those bruises! Didn't look so bad yesterday." 

"They'll look a lot worse tomorrow," I say wisely and make for my own desk. For once there isn't a lot on it, but that's only because Fraser has been doing my paperwork for me. I keep meaning to get a handle on it, but somehow it just doesn't seem to happen... 

The phone rings as I sit down. 

"Vecchio," 

"Hi Ray," 

"Frase," I catch myself smiling at the phone, which must be a sign of something. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine Ray," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right after your ... escapade yesterday." 

Takes me a second to work out what he means, then I put my hand to my throat. 

"'Course I'm fine," I shift so that my back is turned to the rest of the squad room. Nobody's business what me and my man talk about. 

We're both quiet for a couple of seconds, then just as I'm about to say something, he suddenly starts talking. 

"Ray, please don't be angry about this, but I can't help but worry when I'm not there to back you up. Your neck this morning..." 

"Fraser," I pause. How to say this? "Frase, I've been doing this job for a lot of years and I've been around a lot of bad guys. I can handle myself, okay? It's nice that you worry, but you don't have to." 

There's silence for a while, then he says, 

"I know Ray, but I ...." 

"I know," I say to him. "And it's nice, real nice. And me too, yeah?" 

"Yes," 

"Okay." I turn the chair back round. "I gotta go; this guy's due in court real soon. I'll see you later, okay?" 

I put the phone down. A conversation of unfinished sentences. That probably means something. 

* * *

Before I know it it's time to get to the courthouse and watch our guy get locked away until the trial. It's only routine, we still have the trial to come. He knows that as well as I do. He still doesn't want a lawyer; still looks smug. He looks at me as he's led away and I watch his eyes take in the bruises at my throat. He looks real pleased with himself and I feel my hands curl into fists. A hand on my arm grounds me and I glance sideways. Fraser. He half smiles at me and then shakes his head, so I relax my hands and let him lead me out of the courtroom. 

"You're supposed to be at work," is the first thing I say to him, and the half smile grows into a full blown grin. 

"There has been a massive power disruption over almost half of Chicago," he says. "The whole area is in chaos and since we really cannot function without power we have had to close the Consulate to all but emergency business. The auditors cannot manage without their computers and calculators so they have left for the day." He pauses. "Leaving Turnbull in charge was perhaps a little foolish, but what is life without the odd risk?" 

I can't help but grin at him. "Well that's great Frase," I answer. "But I've gotta work, remember?" 

"I know that Ray, but there's nothing stopping us going for a late breakfast now is there? And I can always help with the paperwork at the precinct..." He trails off and looks at me. 

"What?" I say. "What?" 

"The bruises are getting worse," he says. "What happened? I wanted to ask you about them last night but -," he very nearly blushes "conversation wasn't really on the agenda. Will you tell me now?" 

I sigh. I knew I wasn't going to get away with this for much longer. I turn and lead the way out of the building. 

"Okay, let's go eat and I'll tell you about it," I say. "I need to talk to somebody." 

So we go to a local diner and I tell him. I tell him everything; how this case has made me feel sick to my stomach and how much I hate the fact that these kids are so lost; no one will care enough to even watch them buried. And more than anything else how I hate the fact that I can't find a reason for Donnelly doing all this. What if it really is just a sick desire to become a 'name', a big man in prison? 

"He even corrupted his own kid. What we do isn't enough Fraser, it's just not enough," I look at the remains of my coffee and then back up at him. He raises an eyebrow at me. 

"There are so many people out there who need help, who are lost or lonely or just frightened, and we can't ever help them. I look at you and I realise how fucking lucky I am because I could be one of those people, and I feel guilty, y'know?" 

"Yes I know, Ray," he says. "I feel the same. But you have to realise that you can't help everybody. You are a fine policeman and you go out of your way to help as many people as you can. You're a good man and I could almost say that perhaps you care too much." 

I shrug and shake my head, embarrassed. He's never frightened to say what he feels, not to me. I want to ask him something but I can't get the words out. Don't need to; he knows what I'm going to say. 

"When the bodies are released we'll see them into the ground together, yes?" 

I nod. "Yeah. I'd like to do that for them. Everybody should have somebody to mourn them, y'know?" 

He nods. "I know." He smiles and reaches over, touching my hand. He doesn't allow himself to be very demonstrative when we're in public, and just that touch means a lot. 

"Come on," he says. "You need something to take you away from all this death and loneliness." 

"What have you got in mind?" I ask, grinning at him. 

He pulls two pieces of paper out of his pocket and hands one to me. 

"From the tree at the precinct," he says. "We have to buy presents." 

"Frase, I can't!" I say. "I've got to get back to work." 

"Later," he says. "Come on." 

He has a way about him, you know. Even when I don't want to, I end up doing what he tells me. 

But he's promised me. We'll see the kids into the ground together, so they'll know that somebody cared, somebody is sorry that they're dead. 

Somebody will remember them. 

**THE END**


End file.
